To Journey for Loss
by IvernessianWriter
Summary: Jericho is left for dead when his father escapes Vault 101. Not only that, but he is left without any clue to what the hell is going on in his life. He escapes the vault, and that's when everything gets weird. --- 1st person POV.
1. So Many Times

Like so many times before, I just wished everything hadn't changed. At the very least I wished things hadn't changed the way they did. It's ironic when the place you grew up wasn't the place where you were born or would die – even though you were clearly told otherwise.

My father used to tell me things. "Jericho, my boy," he used to say when I'd ask about the vault or his life before I came around or even about my own mother. He didn't want me to know what was going on. He used to tell me, "Jericho this is the place you were born. This is the place you're to grow up in. And like the rest of us who have come before, this is the place where you'll eventually die. So don't worry about anything else, understand." I had to agree every time. What else was there to do? Argue? I grew up thinking there was the vault and nothing else. That we were stuck within the confines of the vault until death did we part.

Yeah, yeah… I'm a vault-dweller. Or used to be. Not anymore, right? No, not now. You know what I have to say about that old techno-trash bin? Damn the place. Damn the "almighty Overseer" and his hellhole. Damn that place and damn… damn him. Damn my father for screwing up our lives, condemning us to this godforsaken Wasteland.

I'm stuck out here with nowhere to go. Nowhere but down that is, if you catch my meaning.

I guess I should have seen it coming. My father left subtle clues to his leaving. I'm not sure if he meant to, but he did. I only wish I'd paid closer attention. I see now that his intentions were to never stay in the vault. Never to stay with me.

It was about three years ago, I guess. Three years of solace – mostly. Except for that backstabbing son of a… Butch. You know, at one time I thought he was kind of cool. Though I think it was mostly the hair. That was before he and his goons formed their dumb gang, the Tunnel Snakes. Stupid, right?

Anyways, it was the day of the illusive G.O.A.T. that I remember the most as one of his "clues".

It started off as any other day, except for the fact that it was that time of year when all the sixteen year old "young adults" went to find out what kind of condemnation would befall us as we took that lame-ass placement test. That's all it was, really – a test to find out what we'd be placed as to help "further the vault".

As I sat there on my father's examination table in his lab, pretending to be sick (he always saw through my lies somehow) I asked him about the G.O.A.T. and why it was important. I didn't like his answer, though I couldn't have told you why back then. There was something in his voice that betrayed what he said, and it did make me feel a little sick.

I guess I was complaining about having to take it, because my father's face became stern and hard, but his voice remained unnaturally calm, as if he was trying to make me believe that the vault really was for us.

"Don't complain about life," he said. "We're born here in the vault. We grow up here in the vault. We work here in the vault. We die here in the vault. There's nothing that can change the way things are." He looked away for a second there, and, while I didn't know why, I saw in his eyes that he didn't mean most of it. A shiver ran down my spine as I saw that look of depletion, almost of regret. I guess he was just trying to conceal the fact that he was really working on a secret escape plan. Maybe he was just trying to convince himself that it was the right thing to do.

Well, after that he told me I should hurry. "After all, if you're lucky, you just might be placed to work beside me on my life's research." Again a shiver ran down my spine as he said that. Maybe he really was trying to tell me something. His research, as far as I was concerned, was just with making sure the vault's computers, generators and all other technological junk was supposed to be in tiptop shape. I guess I'll never find out what his real life's research was all about.

I walked down the hall outside of the science lab, heading to Mr. Brotch's classroom where he'd give us the test. I saw Amata there – god, she was beautiful – and was surrounded by Butch and his goons. A tear formed in the small of her eye as she pushed the goons away. Butch put his hands on her, and I felt my face heat up, my neck tingle, and the hairs on my arms stiffen. My fists clenched, and I made my way over to the dirt bags.

"Something going on here?" I asked. Butch dropped his hands and turned to face me. He wasn't very tall – I towered him by a couple inches. And his cheeks were still a little too chubby for him to be taken seriously. But man could that guy punch. Seriously, if I ever was in a brawl with anyone I'd have chosen Butch as a tag-mate.

Amata turned to me and smiled greatly. I wanted to melt like butter as our eyes met. Her russet beauties, tinged with bronze, full of knowledge and compassion, locked with mine for a moment. I knew she was grateful I showed up. I liked being around to protect her. It made me feel important in her life. But then everything went black as a pain coursed through my stomach. I grabbed my abdomen in agony and toppled over.

Butch had thrust one of his meaty hands into my gut. It felt like a solid brick thrown at me from across the room.

As I regained awareness Butch and Wally were cackling. Paul didn't look too happy about it, but he kept his distance. He didn't like confrontations with Butch. Figures, though. That wuss couldn't stand up to a baby radroach.

I heard Amata curse at Butch. She was so tough. Butch simply silenced her with a back-of-the-hand smack across her face. I saw her fly to the floor. That was it. I could handle his harassment towards me. But when it came to Amata… I snapped.

I jumped up and started wailing on Butch. I think he squealed a bit as I caught him unawares. But the next thing I knew Mr. Brotch and Amata were prying us apart. I think Butch got lucky. I don't know how far I would have taken it. Though, he didn't look too badly injured. His left eye was a bit swollen, but other than that he looked fairly unscathed. Curse his chubby cheeks. I think he got me too. I tasted a bit of my metallic-flavored blood float about in my mouth, mingling with my saliva. I always wondered why it tasted like metal. That was until I learned that we have small traces of iron in our blood. Weird, I know.

My attention remained on Butch as he jerked away from Mr. Brotch and stomped off into class with Wally and Paul following closely behind.

Mr. Brotch focused his attention on me after that. "Look, Jericho," he sighed, "I like your father. He's a good man. I won't mention this little incident to him, but for goodness sake stop messing around, all right?"

I huffed and agreed.

Amata turned towards me as she started away towards the classroom. "Thanks," she said with a faint smile. Our eyes locked again.

"Don't mention it," I said, and she hurried off into class as Brotch called for us to hurry up.

As I settled down into the seat, trying to focus on the questions, I dazed off – completely focused elsewhere. Amata caught my attention throughout the majority of the period.

God, I wish I could see her again.

By the end of the test (Mr. Brotch had stood up at the front of the class and spouted off the questions, to which we had to answer A through D to each of the questions) he called for us to turn in our papers. I quickly, and randomly, scribbled in the letters. I swear, what little did sink in – of the questions, I mean – they were completely irrelevant to life's issues.

I waited for everyone to turn theirs in and hear from Mr. Brotch their results that damned them to a place of humiliation. Butch was next to last before Amata and me. I couldn't help but laugh at his assigned post. It was COMPLETELY weird. I don't know how he managed it, but his results said he was to be a… ok… let me get it out. His results said he was to be a therapist. Mr. Brotch said something along the lines, albeit under his breath, of "may God have mercy on our souls." Butch cursed at his results, saying he just randomly answered the questions. He stormed off, presumably to formulate a plan to change his results by the crazy look in his eyes.

Amata was next, and of course she got the position to be in a place of power. The Overseer – when her father bit the dust, of course. She beamed, slightly, proud of her accomplishment. I didn't know she ever respected the position _that_ much. Maybe it was just that she was proud that she wouldn't be stuck waiting tables, or becoming a waste-center janitor, or something like that.

So… it was my turn. I went up to Mr. Brotch and he looked at me with enthusiasm.

"I saw what you did. You do know this test decides where you'll go."

"I know," I sighed. I handed the test in and watched him calculate my results. His eyebrows raised and he looked up at me with surprised shock.

"Says here you're to be a maintainer of Pipboys." I was just as much surprised. I oftentimes toyed with it, tweaking the internal coding. I had a bit of a knack for technology. Though, I didn't always use it for good. But that's beside the point. Ok, let's just say I didn't always have the best… err… assortment of "information" on my Pipboy. A few pictures here, a few bits of acquired data there. You get the picture.

"I hope Stanley is looking for a new partner," Brotch said as I stood there.

"Sure."

"Talk about irony, huh?" Brotch winked. He tended to have his own acquired information about the residents of Vault 101. I never knew how he managed to know the amount of things he did. But he was always 100% trustworthy when it came to "illegitimate" concerns.

Amata poked her head around the corner and waved for me to hurry up. We were to have lunch as a celebration of our assigned posts. I hurried up, always enthused when it came time to spending with her. I guess one could say we were an "item". Though, I don't think her father, the "all powerful Overseer," completely agreed with our relationship.

Well, our lives mingled with each other's for the next three years. We did become closer – a fair deal closer – over the course of the next three years. But then things changed.

Everything went to soot that day she woke me up with the most dreadful of news.

My father had left the vault.


	2. Eviction Notice

"Wake up, Jericho! Wake up!" I opened my eyes and there she was. Amata. She's so damn beautiful, I thought to myself.

"Hey gorgeous, I was just dreaming about you," I said. Her face was so stern.

"Stop playing around, this is serious," she hissed. "Jonas is dead and now they're looking for you!"

I must have shut down – emotionally and physically. I don't remember what exactly went through my mind at that moment, but I felt my heart stop beating. I remember seeing blood on her shirt. Was it true? Everything seemed to have gone black, and the next thing I knew Amata was shaking me.

"Jericho! Snap out of it! You've got to hurry!"

"What do you mean, dead?"

Amata sighed and tears welled up in her eyes. "I'm sorry. It was my father and his men. They just beat him, and beat him until he stopped moving." Her hands shook as she demonstrated the unrighteous punishment Jonas recieved. "But that doesn't matter now, you have to hurry!"

"W-why? What did he ever do?" I looked down at my hands, they were shaking too. I felt my face get hot; my hairs were standing on end. I felt a wave of vengeance wash over me. "NO! I'll make them all pay, the bastards!"

"No, Jericho, you can't. You couldn't possibly stand up to even one of them. They're all highly trained. And they have GUNS!"

"But it's their fault!" I retorted, perhaps a bit too harshly. Amata jumped back, seemingly startled by the menacing tone to my voice. And the way she was looking at me. I hated myself for it.

"Jericho…" she hesitated.

"What else has happened?" Fear and doubt began to crowd my mind. Did they murder my father too?

"It's your father's…"

"No… it can't be."

"He's escaped."

I was taken aback. He wasn't dead? He lived? But… what did she mean, he escaped? "What are talking about?"

"He escaped the vault. He's left and now my father's in an outrage. He thinks you helped him, and he's hell-bent on getting to you because of it."

I don't know what hurt more, Jonas's death or my father leaving me here without so much as a goodbye. How, though? "I-I don't… how? The vault doors are sealed."

"He found a way. And so have I. But you've got to hurry. Here, take this. I snuck it from my father's quarters." She handed me a pistol, but gave me a look of extreme caution. I knew she trusted me not to do anything rash, but just in case I needed it…

"You found a way?"

She shook her head then shrugged her shoulders. "Kinda. Your father hacked into the mainframe of my father's computer and revealed a secret escape route. It links directly to the main tunnel. He hacked that, and now he's left. It isn't guarded as heavily."

"How do you know?"

"Because Jonas told me as he was dying that your father had sealed it up again. No one knows but us now." The blood on her shirt was Jonas's. She then handed me the key to her father's office and told me to escape the vault. She'd try to meet me at the vault, but not to wait up for her.

I wanted to stop her right there and hold her. Kiss her even. But she darted away through my door. And I was left there with a pistol in my hand.

I can't say that the thought of suicide hadn't crossed my mind, because it did. But I figured that would be the easy way out. No, I was going to leave this place. I was going to escape the vault.

Immediately I grabbed my belongings: my baseball bat and lucky red baseball cap that Stanley gave me for my tenth birthday, and of course my BB gun that Jonas and Dad gave me on my tenth, too. So, I was ready. My stomach may have churned, my head may have been spinning, but I was ready to leave. I tucked the pistol into the back of my pants, slung the BB gun by its strap across my shoulders, and slid silently out into the hallway.

I snuck along the passages until I came to a flashing red light. A guard stood at the end of the hall with a police baton in hand. There was only one way out of here and that was through him. I gathered up the needed strength and dashed for him with my bat at the ready.

Honestly, I don't know how I did it, but as he swung his baton at me I saw everything as if it were in slow motion. I ducked the blow and brought up my bat with a sickeningly powerful blow that broke the guard's jaw, sending him sprawling a few feet away. I was shaking, my pulse pounding in my ears. The guard didn't move again. I'd killed a man.

I'd like to say I could stomach the action. Nope. A wave of nausea washed over me as the adrenaline died and I threw up off to the side. I couldn't believe myself. My initial thought was I'm a monster. But I quickly ruled that out, seeing as how I've never been exposed to any amount of radiation, save the kind that's emitted from the vault's reactor.

I had to get away. I dashed into the bathrooms to my left, just wanting to be anywhere else than where a man's corpse lay. Once on the other side of the bathrooms, however, I felt my bad luck had turned for the worse. My childhood menace rounded the corner screaming about radroaches.

Butch stopped in front of me with a look of horror streaked across his face. "Please, Jericho, my mother… my mother…" What the hell was he babbling about? Didn't he hear I was in deep crap here?

"What the hell, Butch. Get outta my way!" I tried to push past him, but he held me there for some weird reason.

Gulping, and apparently catching his breath, Butch managed to make out what he was trying to say. "My mom's being eaten by radroaches. Ya gotta help me!"

Now if there was never such a thing as irony in any other circumstance this would definitely be it. The one who always tried to beat me up… the _big bad Butch_, here… asking ME for help. I think I voiced that to him there, too. If only I'd known better.

"I know, I know. I'm sorry for being an ass to you all those times, but please!" Butch got down on his knees. Oh! That was priceless! Butch was begging me for help… but why wasn't I hurrying? I should've been.

"Dammit Butch, all right! I'll help you. Just get up off the floor and c'mon. Here." I handed him my BB gun. I think I left it there with him… I was in a rush, could you blame me?

Well, we took care of the overgrown insects and I made a rush for it before Butch could conjure up some other lame excuse to keep me waiting. I really didn't feel like helping him anymore. After all, I was only doing it for his mom. She was pretty nice to me. I just don't know how she managed to raise such an ass. Whatever.

Making my way out in the main foyer, I was headed for the security hall, and from there to the Overseer's office where, supposedly, the escape lay. Tom and Mary Holden were there in the foyer arguing about escaping the vault. And it wasn't until Tom mentioned that they were going to follow in my father's footsteps and escape the vault that I realized that this really was going on. I shrank back into the shadows. Mary screamed and ran after Tom. A second later, gunshots. Another second, a scream. And then silence.

Two guards waltzed out of the hallway that Tom and Mary ran into, each with blood splattered on their black Kevlar vests. They joked about the innocent bloodshed and it made me angry.

I felt another rush for vengeance: the same feeling that came over me when I slew the first guard. I dodged out from my cover as they neared it and bashed in both of the guard's knees with my bat. They screamed in agony and tried to get a hold of their pistols. I knocked the weapons aside, possibly breaking one of their hands, and pointed my own pistol at them. The look of horror on their faces I'll probably never forget. They're humans too, even though they don't deserve life. I probably should have killed them, but something stayed my trigger finger. Regardless, I darted away towards the security office's hall. I was becoming something more… gruesome. But it didn't matter then, I just needed to escape.

I was almost there – the Overseer's office was just around the next corner – when I heard Amata's sweet voice pleading for her father's forgiveness.

"Please, Father. No! You can't!"

I crouched outside underneath the security office's window and peered in from the corner. Amata's father backslapped her, blood and spit flinging from her mouth. I cringed as I saw her whimpering.

"Teach her a lesson in respect, Officer Mack," the Overseer ordered his guardsman. Mack raised his baton and began to whack Amata with it. Before I knew it I was inside the office pummeling Mack with my bat. Amata managed to escape, but I stayed.

In one quick movement before the Overseer could retrieve Mack's pistol from the nearby desk, I revealed my own pistol (formerly his) and aimed it at his head.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," I said, and forced him back into the corner. I retrieved the ammo and unloaded his pistol, stuffing the extra clips into my pants pockets for future reasons, all while holding him at gunpoint.

"You'll never escape the vault alive, young man," the Overseer hissed. "Turn yourself in and I promise no harm will come to you."

He did not just go there, I thought. "Like you didn't kill Jonas, you bastard," I growled.

"Jonas was compromised. But you… I see great things in your future. Your father…"

"Shut up," I yelled.

He continued, "He left the vault. He left you."

"Shut up, I said," I yelled even louder, my hand shaking as my finger hovered over the trigger.

"I'm escaping this vault and there'll be nothing you can do about it."

"What makes you say that?" He inquired.

I smiled at him and stepped away from the holding cell, protected by an encrypted lock and shoved him inside. "Because I'm the better programmer. You killed Jonas and the only means for your escape from this cell is now leaving. At least for a few days until someone manages to break the code."

"I know the code, you fool!" He barked.

"Not anymore," I said as I unplugged my modified Pipboy from the padded lock. His eyes widened in disbelief.

"And one more thing," I added, before shutting the cell door. "Don't ever touch Amata again." I could faintly hear him yelling for guards as I rounded the corner to his office, Jonas's prone, lifeless body was just laying there. I felt both fear and anger try to take hold of me. Something was clutched in his hand. A holotape labeled "Explanation". I tucked it in a pocket for later listening. Right then I didn't have time to listen. Though I stood there for a moment regardless, trying to get a handle on everything happening. What broke me from my stupor was a faint sniffling. I turned around and headded into the Overseer's quarters.

Amata was huddled off to one side of her father's bedroom, tears staining her cheeks red. She jumped up and into my arms as I entered the room. It felt so right and yet so wrong to be here right now.

"Thank you," she whispered, her tears dampening my vault-suit.

I pressed my nose into her hair and inhaled deeply. "Don't mention it."

She wiped her eyes and dragged me along behind her, making her way into her father's office. She plopped down in her father's chair and decoded the terminal.

A whirring sound emanated from the Overseer's desk and the base slowly rotated, exposing four notches around its circumference. The whole thing began to lift and a set of mechanical doors slid apart revealing a flight of stairs leading downward.

"Come on," she said with that graceful smile of hers. I followed her down into the tunnel, and eventually we found ourselves at a massive cog-shaped door. The door to Vault 101. The door to my freedom.

I walked over to the control panel to operate the door, finding the right combination of buttons to press, and disengaged the lock. A loud thud resounded in the entrance chamber, followed by a cranking and grating sound. The vault door was opening. Shouts and hollers startled me, coming from the door behind Amata and I. I nearly forgot there was a door there leading back into the vault (the door proper).

In a hurry, Amata and I jammed the door with a metal bar through the compression locks.

That should've held them for a while.

Amata grabbed me by the face and kissed me. I was stunned, and again I felt like melting… but more intensely. She backed off a bit.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have done that."

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because…" her eyes watered up.

I walked over to her and placed a hand on her cheek and caressed it, working my way up into her brunette locks. She closed her eyes and put her hands over mine.

I leaned down to her and whispered in her ear, "Come with me."

I didn't know why she reacted the way she did, but she immediately backed off, looking at me with a painstaking glance as if she were confronted with the most difficult decision of her life. She shook her head.

"Amata…"

"I can't. You've made it this far. No, just go."

"But Amata… c'mon. You can't just stay here. Your father's crazy. He'll probably end up hurting you… or worse. I can't live with that."

"I know he's… difficult right now. But he's my father. If anyone can calm him down it's me. My place is here beside him, helping the vault. But you, you're meant to go out there."

"Amata…"

"Go!" She turned away and ran, and just in time too. The bar busted as the compression locks snapped open. I turned to run away through the opened vault door. They had pistols.

All I can say is I was screwed. They shot me in the thigh and the shoulder, and if you've never been shot before – trust me don't try it – it hurts like hell. I can't quite say what it resembles, but I think if Butch's punch felt like a brick hitting me in the gut, then maybe getting shot feels like taking something really sharp and jamming it into your body, and leaving it there while your blood flows freely. Hell. Yeah… hurts like hell.

But I had too much adrenaline to just not do something. I spun on my heel to confront the guards and that same sense of everything moving slowly BUT me happened again. I whipped out my pistol and unleashed a full clip in their direction. Dead. Both of them. And I killed them. Nausea didn't overtake me again, though that might have been because I wasn't so close to their corpses to see the crimson liquid flowing from their wounds because of me.

And after that I really don't know what happened. I remember walking to the end of the tunnel leading out of the vault and seeing a wooden door. I must have opened it because from there on I only saw an incredibly bright light. I now know that it was the sun, but I wasn't sure at that moment. From there on it's a bit fuzzy.

I don't know if I walked somewhere, or if it happened right after. To say in the least, I fainted from exhaustion, most likely. And so began my life in the Capital Wasteland. My miserable life out here in this god forsaken deserted place.

Barren doesn't quite describe it. Imagine a land with nothing civil for miles around. Now imagine that land filled with monsters, raiders (these psycho people who shoot on sight no matter what), and giant insects bigger than our freaking radroaches – two or three or even FOUR times bigger. And all because I got an improper eviction notice.

Now I'm stuck out here. Me, my pistol, and this crazy ass shadow who saved my life.


	3. The Wrong Side of the Bed

I woke up with a massive headache. At first I didn't think I had awakened to reality – at least I'd hoped I hadn't. All I saw was light and an incredibly painful amount of it too. I don't think my eyes have ever hurt so badly from seeing light. In fact, I knew they hadn't. Being blind is not fun, not at all. It didn't last too long, though. But what I saw, like a newborn focusing on something for the very first time, confused me.

An odd shadow hung over me like a canopy, trying to shield my eyes with a damp cloth. The cooled liquid dripping from the cloth tasted horrible, like drinking from a muddy water source. Well, honestly I couldn't have said that back then, because I didn't know what drinking from a muddy water source tasted like. Being confined in an uninterrupted place for so long – sheltered from the outside world – has its pros… and its cons.

At the moment I didn't care too much about what the water tasted like. I was just thankful that I had something to moisten my parched lips. I tried to move, but was sore all over. Mostly I felt as if my skin was on fire on the exposed pieces of flesh; the ones unprotected from harmful UV rays.

Heh, just one more radiated source to watch out for, right?

The shadow said something to me. Its voice was husky and sounded as if it, too, hadn't had a whole lot of water. While I didn't quite make out what it said, I comprehended the overall message when it forced me to lie down – I needed to heal first. Whatever the shadow was it took care of me; wet my lips when I began to cough due to dehydration; even proffered bandages to tidy up my wounds. I became sure the shadow was a male the more I studied him.

He hunched over, teetering on the tips of his boots, concealed within a large beige trench coat with the collar flipped up. A barrel of a dusk hat balanced crookedly on his clandestine noggin.

He hurried to work before the afternoon sun could make its way overhead. In a manner of a few short minutes a crude hut was erected around us and almost immediately I felt the burning sensation on my limbs and face ease a little.

My eyes had become pretty accustomed to the light by now, especially with the tent around me, and I noticed a strange orange goop covering my limbs. I went to wipe it away, but the shadowed figure stayed my hand.

"Let it be," he said in his husky voice. "The Rad-Away will help cure the radiation your skin's received from the sun." His piercing eyes were so strange, a faint reddish bronze, sort of washed out as if he were wearing milky contacts. And they were solemn and reliant. I felt I could trust him just by looking into his eyes.

I nodded in compliance.

As the daylight faded into oblivion, and the remaining hours of afternoon morphed into evening, I saw my first sunset. I think it literally took my breath away. It was so incredibly beautiful. Nothing had I ever seen before, let alone heard of, could have compared with the magnificence of that sight – or so I thought. Nights are truly spectacular too! But with the sunlight fading, the western horizon lit ablaze like a thousand wildfires torching the distant land, I was awestruck by how much I'd missed out on. Of course the view of a sunset felt safer, knowing that a thousand wildfires _weren't_ torching the land. I don't even think a fire could live long out here with so little kindling to feed off of.

As night came I watched the great white orb, called a Full Moon, rise into the sky, surrounded by millions, if not _billions_, of shimmering little light sources hanging in the heavenly sea of deep blue. I fell asleep knowing that, with the image of the moon and stars forever engraved in my mind's eye, reality had existed in a completely different form than what I'd grown up knowing it to be. I almost felt I was in paradise.

Almost.

I woke up surrounded by the tan canvas that the mysterious shadow had erected for us the night before. That orange goo had either completely absorbed in my skin or the blanket atop me. I felt a whole lot better and my sore skin was relieved of its glowing red tint. My rescuer was gone as well. I felt a little disappointed, but not surprised.

I looked around the tent and noticed a few food stuffs alongside a carrying bag loaded with, presumably, accessories in it, lay off to one side of the tent. A little bag next to that had a note tied around its mouth with directions to the nearest town, and instructions on the gear inside and the little bag that the note was tied to.

Bottle caps.

Who'd have thought bottle caps would be the currency of 2277. I counted out several dozen before I even got half way through the bag. The note read that one bottle cap, or just 'cap', was roughly the equivalent of one old United State's American dollar. There must have been a few hundred in the bag, and he must not have been that desperate for caps. I pushed the cap bag aside and perused through the accessories bag.

I fished out a set of armor comprised of leather that looked about my size, a duster like the shadow's overcoat (but a little darker), and a metal canteen with much tastier water than I'd received the day before. I'd have to ration it while on my way to the town described. So, I gathered up the cap bag and backpack after donning the armor and duster, pocketed my pistol in its new holster, and headed out into the blistering daylight.

The duster withstood most of the heat remarkably well, and I imagine I blended in easily with the surrounding rocky terrain because I had few encounters with the native critters as I made my way to,

"Megaton," the note read. "Watch out for the ratties on your way, though." If only I'd known what the hell ratties were before setting out. I didn't encounter too many, but what few I did encounter could probably have been avoided, saving me the trouble of wasting about twenty too many rounds on their ugly little pink hides. Vicious things, too! Ugh!

As I passed under the ruins of an ancient decrepit highway, I saw in the distance a large, brown, semi-domed structure. I figured that must be the place based on the vague description of it in the note.

_Big dome-like place. Some friendly folk inside. Keep your cool, though._

I don't think I'd have to worry about behaving. I just wanted a place to gather my thoughts for a while. And if it meant keeping my hands to myself, I was willing to obey.

I neared the place and noticed a junky old robot standing out front greeting people as they passed to and fro. Well, person… only one… me. I passed by and it greeted me to Megaton. What a weird name, I thought.

Apparently the whole place was being built and an "active dud" got dropped in the middle somehow by a faulty bomber. At least this is what I was told when greeted by the local sheriff, Lucas Simms. He bid me mind my manners, and I wouldn't see much of him as long as I kept a good mannered relation with the town. I agreed and headed on in to get a drink and a bite to eat at the local tavern, Moriarity's Saloon. I hadn't eaten a whole lot that day and I was famished.

It took me a bit – having to traverse the multilayered junkyard (there wasn't a whole lot else that could describe the town other than just that) confused me – but eventually I made my way after many wrong turns, confusing directions and otherwise misunderstood conceptions of who, what and where things were.

Moriarity's place wasn't much of a looker, and worse was the smell of heavy liquor. I was never much of a drinker – in fact, I'd never even had a "hard" drink before in my life (we tended to run shallow on those particular items in the vault). When I settled down in one of the barstools to try my hand, or mouth, at tasting liquor, I was immediately confronted by a rather promiscuous woman.

Now, I don't know what happened to every other man who came in contact with her, but she didn't really do it for me. While I didn't necessarily mind the view of her near completely exposed bosom, her face was tattered and worn from years of physical misuse. To try and hide her aged appeal, she wore heavy makeup. The constant puff of cigarette smoke while trying to hold a conversation only made her all the more uninviting, if you know what I mean. Apparently she thought the act attractive. But hey, out here the world required… err… less.

"I ain't never seen the likes of you around here, honey," she said in a haggard voice. "Where'd you come from? You look a little too clean to have come from anywhere out in the Wastes."

"Uhh… Jericho, ma'am," I said. "Actually, I don't originally come from around here."

"Whaddya mean? Oh! You're another of those vault-dwellers, am I right?" Whoa! Another one of those vault-dwellers!? I was shocked… astounded, even. Could she mean?

"Umm. Another vault-dweller?" I asked. Of course, I asked. Why wouldn't I? My father left me, and I was going to find him. But… did he want me to find him? He didn't even leave a warning for me that he would just, one day, suddenly disappear.

"Look, kid, I like you and all. You seem the nice type, and all," there's always a catch. The "nice type"? I guess I figured that, seeing as how growing up in the vault might make one "nicer" than a Wasterlander. "But I'm not gettin' my ass handed to me because I leaked information like this to anyone else."

Ok. What the hell did she mean by that? If she knew something about my father, then she should tell me. "I'm looking for my father," I said perhaps a bit too harshly. Pshh, that might lower the "nice guy" effect I'd apparently shrouded her eyes with. "If you know anything about him I'd like to know. Did you or did you not see anyone else from Vault-101?"

"Oh, so now we're getting a bit rough. I like it that way, kid." She laughed a bit. I didn't find this discussion humorous in the least, and here she was laughing in my face. Did she think I was the type to just stand here and be pushed around? Well, maybe I was. But the way she was looking at me! She then directed me to old Gob, Moriarity's manservant, he was called.

Now here's something you don't see every day. I admit, I was a bit freaked by the guy's appearance. But his voice sounded kind of familiar, disillusioning my momentary relapse in reality. His flesh was rotting away, or so it looked. But he didn't smell that bad. Maybe a bit dirty. His skin was bare in parts, revealing the muscular meat of his body. It was a bit disturbing, but I figured this was just the ordinary if people were ordering drinks from him without so much as a second glance. Well, most people. Some were just mean.

"Need a drink?" Gob asked in a weary, raspy tone, like he'd been serving people his whole life and was getting tired of it. His milky reddish eyes looked worrisome, like he was afraid I'd strike him just because. Maybe they weren't too ordinary.

"Umm, sure," I said, trying to be polite. I looked away, focusing on the nearby radio. A rather fuzzy tune was coming through about some crazy guy named Butcher Pete and how he liked chopping up ladies meat. This place out here didn't offer much solace from unpleasantries.

My attention refocused on Gob after a moment. He handed me glass of some sort of amber liquid. He was just staring at me from then on. And there was some sort of twinkle, a kindled hope I assumed, in his eye.

"You're not going to hit me, call me names, or something of the sort?"

I was a bit taken aback. "I-I hadn't planned on it."

He smiled a wide meaty smile. "So what's on your mind kid?"

"Umm. Well. I was just wondering… what are you?"

Some of the flicker of hope in his eyes dwindled, but he remained curious. "I'm a Goul," he replied a little more excited.

"Oh. Nice to meet you. I'm Jericho."

That bit of hope came back in his eyes. "I heard you talking to the foxy Nova over there." Gob flicked his head in the courtesan's direction. I shuddered, but he didn't seem to notice. He looked like he was daydreaming about spending an afternoon with her doing god only knows what.

"Yeah. I was hoping you could tell me something about this other vault-dweller that came through. I think it was my Dad. About my height, graying hairs, course beard of black?"

"Uhh. You see." Here we go again, I thought. I knew this place out here would be rough, but not so much as rude when it came to coughing up necessary information. I guess I thought maybe everyone would be as nice as the first guy that saved my life. Don't you hate being disappointed like that?

Gob continued. "Look, this is Moriarity's place. And I'm more or less his indentured slave – he saved my life, I owe him, yadda yadda… you get the picture. What I'm trying to say is, I ain't about to risk my neck for anyone. Not even someone as nice as you. I just can't afford it." He lowered his voice to a whisper, which made it hard to understand some parts with his raspy tone clogging up the words. I think I understood the overall message. "But I will tell you that Moriarity knows the guy," he said. "They conversed for quite a bit. He knows something, so don't let him tell you otherwise." I was confused. How could my father "know" anyone outside of the vault? Maybe he… Nah. We were born in the vault. I nodded in appreciation and downed the ocher liquid. It was vile, but I felt more aware.

Moriarity stood a couple inches shorter than me. His tousled hair, a silver-gray, and liquid brown eyes reflected the years of hardships he'd apparently confronted (and hopefully dealt with). His face looked as if it was riddled with scars, giving him a more savage appearance. In fact, I was beginning to think that no one out here grew up in some sort of nurtured society.

"What you lookin' at kid?" he asked in a thick accent unfamiliar to me. He seemed friendly enough.

"I heard you were the person to talk to for information."

His eyes lit up with a strange green flicker that overshadowed his previously friendly gaze. And by green I mean greedy.

"What's it worth to ya?" The catch…

"I'm looking for a man. I have reason to believe that he's recently come through here."

Moriarity's focus shifted once again to one filled with remembrance, but then quickly refilled with the covetous gaze. He put his thick fingers in the unkempt matted hairs sprouting from his broad chin, supposedly pondering whether or not to give the information up freely. After a few moments his jaw dropped.

"Why, if I be blown away like an unstable tree in a hurricane, it's you!" First of all, I hade no idea what in the world he was talking about. What's a hurricane? And second, he really knew my father? "And here you are all grown up," he continued.

"Uhh…" was all I could muster.

"Well, of course you don't remember me. Wise of James to keep names to himself." He watched my expression, which apparently amused him. He grinned, flashing a set of dingy teeth. I wasn't too sure what to make of it all. My brain hurt a little from trying to piece it together. If my father knew this Moriarity guy… then either he'd been outside the vault before, or was born outside the vault. I had to make sure.

"So… you know my father how?"

"Look, if you want to know more about your father, I've got some… things that need taken care of." Of course, the illusive palm greasing business. I've heard tales of such uncivil acts. Not surprising the "trade" has flourished so long.

"How much is it going to cost me?"

"No, no, no! Well…" For second there I thought he was actually going to be gracious and freely tell the little about my father he knew. "Here's the deal. I've got some launderers, wastrels, vagabonds – call 'em what you wish – but to me they're bastards who owe me money."

I raised my hand to intervene. I saw where this was going. "Let me guess. You want me to make them pay up."

"Or _disappear_ and take the money and bring it back to me." The way he said disappear made me almost believe he meant murder. Or did he? The more I thought about it the more likely that was his solution.

"So, if I can get you your money you'll make me a deal and tell me my father's whereabouts?" I didn't know if I could trust this guy, but I was desperate for any information about my father I could scrounge up.

"I'll tell you something sure as mi' name's Colin Moriarity. Scouts honor and all that stuff."

"All right, Mr. Moriarity. You've got yourself a deal."

"Just Moriarity, or Colin, I prefer. Seeing as how we're old acquaintances, and all."

"What?" How could I have been acquainted with him? I was born in the vault that much I knew, even if my father wasn't.

"Do I have to explain everything to you, lad?" I suppose not. Dammit! How could my world go from one day living in a peaceful, secluded area, to waking up on the wrong side of the bed and finding out my entire life was just one big lie. Except Amata. Damn I miss that girl.

I turned my back and walked out. That was when I finally took it all in.

I was screwed.


	4. Charon

Silver. Springvale. My target and location. Moriarity disclosed the information after, more or less, telling me I was born OUTSIDE the vault. Well, at least he told me something. In order to get the information I'd _actually_ wanted, however, was something else.

Apparently someone named Silver owed him some money. 500 caps he eventually settled on after trying to recollect how much the person owed him. "Due roughly north", said my Pipboy thanks to the location provided by that crazy bartender.

Moriarity. I thought only in high hopes that he'd deliver as promised the moment I got back. _When_ I got back.

While the distance proved little more than a tiresome jog, something else halted my progress. Mole rats. Those evil little pink fleshed eaters. I expended a couple of clips before even reaching the halfway mark to Springvale. Though, it proved fairly good target practice. I'm sure my accuracy increased a bit as I killed more of them, because it took less and less bullets to take one down. I found a round right between the eyes takes them out pretty nice.

This is rhetorical, but shouldn't a bullet between the eyes mean the same for anything else? I wish.

I made my way to Springvale with several mole rat carcasses left in my wake. Surprise! The place offered even less than Megaton. Nothing stood but the skeletons of post-war rubble. And the worse part, no one was in sight. Except a mechanical floating eye propagandizing for these crazy unionists called the Enclave. It hovered to and fro, but eventually left the area, comforting me a little more somehow.

I cross-examined my Pipboy to make sure the location I was in checked out. It did, so I began combing the ruins of the "had been". I began to think I'd been sent on some wild goose chase. But still I kept searching.

Albeit with limited success.

A few scattered bonfires were lit within red barrels. A sure sign of recent occupation. But that was all that showed the presence of intelligible beings. The rest of the town was as silent as if it were rundown by the undead. And how right I was.

In a sense.

The town's girth measured fairly wide in diameter, and many houses remained untouched by the time the sun's light faded into the rapidly darkening point of twilight. Alone in the barrens of the wasteland at night by yourself is no thrilling aspect in life. It's downright terrifying. Especially when your o-so-sweet-bliss-of-ignorance has been shattered due to the fact of being thrust into a psychotic world littered with monstrous beings. And when I say monstrous I don't just mean mutated insects and animals that might want a piece of your hide. I mean monstrous in the sense of 100% actual bonafide monsters.

Sure, they used to be humans. Not anymore. Remember the ghoul, Gob? Used to be human, but was radically altered due to radiation poisoning. So, he's a nice monster in the sense. Ferral ghouls, on the other hand, are not in any way nice.

There I was confronting my very first feral ghoul with a mere 10mm pistol as my only self defense. And of course my bat, but that didn't last long. When I went to swing it at the ghoul, the thing grabbed it in mid-swing, tearing it from my grasp, and snapping it as easily as I can a twig, wooden splinters now scattered into a hundred bits, which surprised me due to the fact that the ghoul looked little more than thin skin tightly stretched across fragile bones.

I couldn't help but think to myself that I'd probably not live to see another day. I tried to outrun it, but it just as easily overcame me, trying to tear at my limbs. Bullets in the limbs, chest, even in the head didn't stop it. While they stayed its progress for a little while, it only lasted until I ran out of ammo. That's right. Zero bullets left in my ammunition reservoir. This is it, I thought, this is the end.

As I backed up into one of the many ruins, cornered like a hunted animal, I felt genuine fear take hold of me. The ghoul walked slowly towards me, probably enjoying the fact that it was the victor. I just prayed it to be a quick and painless death.

It halted a few feet in front of me, with a look of confusion on its sunken in face. And then a look of fear formed, followed by one of pain. A fiery metallic object protruded from its gut, ripping upward in a jagged fashion, searing the flesh and giving off a horrible stench – the stench of roasted decaying meat. It heaped to a fried pile of smoking gook.

I looked up and felt relieved to see the shadowy figure looking at me like I was a complete imbecile. And he said that before looking down at the carcass. He had a large metal thing on his back, wired to the flaming blade in his hand.

"What's your problem? Starting fights with people, you mindless filth" he growled at the carcass, his fierce eyes burning with hatred for the monster the ghoul had become. Though, he looked at me with little more hospitality than his prey.

"And you," he barked, talking to me, "can't you take care of yourself? Don't you know the only way to kill a feral ghoul is to burn it, decapitate it, or, if you're lucky enough to get your hands on a missile launcher, blow the thing to hell!" It wasn't a question. He paused, and looked closer at me, but waited for me to answer.

"I do now," I said, nodding fervently, just thankful that I would live to see another day.

He looked around, scanning the area for anything else, then nodded for me to follow him. I tagged along until he came to a particularly low-built house. It stood, mostly, housing the shadowy figure and his supplies. With a quick flick of his wrist, he motioned me inside, pausing at the door way, then entering after glancing back over his shoulder for any sign of pursuers.

Immediately he unbuckled the large blue and red canister from his back, and set the weapon aside (making double sure that the valves and knobs were turned to prevent the weapon from firing up involuntarily). He then removed his large hat in a clean, swift motion, and tossed it perfectly to settle on a hat rack where two others like it rested. I should have guessed it sooner when seeing the same eyes on Gob. The shadow was a ghoul. He spun around to study me, and his eyes widened with remembrance.

"Ah, the young vault-dweller," he said, recalling our previous engagement. "I see you've fared well since we last met."

"It's been less than a day."

He shrugged and settled into an oversized red cushioned arm chair. He offered a little green armchair across from his. I gratefully sat, very much pleased to be off my aching feet. I don't think I'd ever walked so much in my life before everything went haywire in the vault. I eventually found out his name's Charon.

A little desk, set off to the right of Charon's chair, contained many odds and ends on its surface and in its drawers. He sifted through the years of accumulated junk until he crossed an elongated tube with a bowl shaped piece on the end. He put some weird mixture of leaves in and stamped it down. With a match he struck he continued to light the mixture and puff in, closing his eyes as he savored the flavor.

Cinnamon with a tinge of honey coalesced along the ceiling in tiny smoke rings as he exhaled the remnant fumes. I figured it to be some sort of smoking pipe similar to a cigarette. A pipe. That sounded familiar, anyways, so I stuck with calling it that.

After a moment of watching the odd shapes he managed to form the smoke rings into, all due to years of honed skill he said, I noticed him watching me. I shifted in my seat, unsure of what was going on through his irradiated cranium.

"So, what are you doing out here in Springvale, kid?" Finally, a break in the silence, I thought. I may have revealed this thought through the absentminded sigh I released, as if holding my breath in to escape the silence. Charon found it humorous and chuckled.

"Well, I'm actually looking for someone named Silver. You haven't, by chance, seen him? Have you?" I waited a moment before he replied.

Charon sighed and looked down at his pipe as he took a few more long-drawn puffs. "She, kid."

"Oh. Well, you haven't seen her, then, have you?"

He slowly shook his head as he pursed his lips. "Can't say I have," he said, exhaling a bit more smoke. I was disappointed, and the notion clearly came across because he chuckled some more. "It was about a month ago when I last saw her."

I looked up, hopeful. "So, you know where she is, then?"

Charon shrugged. "More or less."

"Can you tell me?"

He became cautious, leery of my motive. "Why do you want to know so badly? What's it to you?" He voice held a trace of venom.

I fumbled my wording, trying to make up some excuse to get me by. I've never been that good of a liar. So, eventually I had to confide in him all that had transpired, and why I was so desperate to get things done. I needed more information on my father, regardless of what I had to do to get it. He stayed quiet and listened to my tale.

Charon remained silent for a while longer, assumedly enjoying the last of his mixture. He finished and tapped out the ashes, leaving them to reside on the already messy floor. "You'll never get to her," he said.

"I've got to try."

He sighed. "She's been had, taken, never to return."

"What do you mean?" I felt danger lurking in my near future.

"She's become a slave, is what I'm saying. You'll never get to her. Her captors, the Paradise Falls slavers, are the most ruthless bastards around. You try and get in there..." he shook his head. "Most likely you'll end up with a collar around your neck that'll blow your head to a million chunks if you ever tried to escape." Danger wasn't the word to describe what I'd have to do in order to get the money for Moriarity. It sounded more like a suicide mission.

"Do you even know why Moriarity wants her money so badly anyway?"

"Silver used to be one of his betty's."

"His what?"

"His perverted seducer, his prostitute. She used to work for him, but decided the lifestyle wasn't worth her time and talents. Moriarity got mad and now he wants her to pay. Cheap bastard. It's a shame she went from a life of chosen fornication to one of forced." I pondered over that for a little. Moriarity did want me to kill off Silver, then. I'd have to have a talk with the old bag about all this.

I started to get up to be on my way, but Charon forbade me of leaving, unless I wished to die. It quickly donned on me that I had no ammo; therefore no means of protection on my way back to Megaton. Charon offered me a bed for the night, "Rent free," he joked.

As I slid into the vast realm of my waking dreams, comfortable enough as could be while sleeping on an ancient mattress, I had my most vivid dream ever. I remember it as clearly as if I saw it while wide awake.

I stood on a terraced hill, overlooking much of what used to be a great nation, now the giant sepulcher of the present and future. A great towering monument lay behind me with guards garbed in mechanical suits patrolling the area, fighting off brutish beings. While the brutes weren't clearly portrayed in my dream, I knew they struck fear into all those who were too helpless to do anything about it. And even those who did fight back felt fear because of the sheer number of enemies they'd have to face.

Slaughter from beasts, cannibalism among races, enslavement of humans, betrayal between friends – all of it was a part of the vast Wastes.

And there was nothing I could do about any of it.

The scene shifted. I now stood a ways off from a rivaling power in the land. Enhanced, armor-bearing soldiers garbed in a sinister metallic alloy unlike any I'd ever seen marched across the deserted plains. Little did they care for the innocents they butchered with powerful technological weapons. People ran, but none could withstand the reckless hate that emanated from the murderers like a dark, suffocating cloud.

My focus shifted once again to the same rivaling power allied with slavers. They, of course, began capturing men, women, and children, forcing them to labor as if nothing more than savage beasts. But one person caught my eye in particular.

In the middle, behind a small child and her mother, I saw _her_. Tears staining her cheeks red, flowing from russet eyes tinged with bronze around the edges. Sadness and despair. Her brunette locks whipped about in the wind.

Amata.

I felt my own hatred raging for the blood of her captors. I wanted to do something… anything to alleviate her pain. But I couldn't. She turned her head, and it felt she looked directly at me. She just winced as a nearby slaver cracked his whip across her back, splitting the skin. Blood coursed along her back and fell to the earth, forgotten in the dust of the caravan of slaves.

I could only watch as I witnessed her tormentors spare not one iota of sympathy for the captives.

I woke with a start. Charon was shaking me to wake, telling me I was having a nightmare.

He was telling me!

When he tried to push for what I dreamt, I shared with him the dream. I then shrugged off the rest of the conversation by changing the topic to Megaton and Moriarity. Charon sighed and settled back into his chair.

"I've been thinking about that all night, Jericho."

"What do you mean?" I asked. I had a sick feeling build in my gut. I knew exactly what he meant.

"How do you feel about rescuing some slaves?"


End file.
